January 1st 2008
by souleswanderer
Summary: What took place after New Years Eve 2008. A continuing look at the friendship of House and Wilson.
1. Chapter 1

House slowly became aware of the unusual smell of bacon frying and coffee emanating through his apartment, setting his empty stomach to growling like a bear coming out of hibernation and having to force his mouth close before he began slobbering from the enticing aroma. Lifting his head mere centimetres from the pillow he peered at the bleary numbers as his foggy brain tried to make sense of the digits displayed on his clock radio.

Ten forty-three.

Letting his head drop back to the firm support he groaned, rubbing his face against the cotton material. There went that resolution he thought humourlessly. He'd hoped to be at work by now so that he could avoid the wrath of Cuddy, if only for one day in the New Year. This was why he didn't bother to make a list of resolutions at the stroke of midnight December thirty-first, proving once again that changing a clock was not a miraculous cure all for the human race's bad habits.

Snuggling further into the bedcovers he pulled the sheets up under his chin and waited. Maybe if he played possum Wilson would take pity on him and serve him breakfast in bed.

"Unless you're willing to settle for leftovers, come and get it." Wilson's voice negated his thoughts. The oncologist looked like a cover model for GQ, leaning against the doorframe. Arms folded across the white tee shirt tucked into faded Levi's and legs crossed at the knees, bare feet giving him the look of easy carelessness.

"Boy Wonder turning over a new leaf?" House mocked.

Wilson's right eyebrow lifted even as House gave him a half hearted wave indicating the other's attire. Giving the older man a slight grin, Wilson dropped his gaze to take in his own appearance then broke into a bigger grin as he reached up ruffling his already dishevelled mop of brown hair.

"I still have five more days of vacation," he announced triumphantly, which explained the mutinous apparel he now modelled, from the meticulously pressed and fluffed image the young Doctor was normally infamous for.

"Yeah, yeah yeah," House mumbled. "I'm still going to blame my being late to work on your primping session," he finished smugly.

Pulling a dishtowel off his shoulder, Wilson walked away calling back towards the room and its lone occupant. "I told Cameron to call if they happened upon a case."

House rolled onto his back staring at the ceiling as if it held the answer to whether the rest of the New Year could get any better than this. Absently rubbing his right thigh, more from habit than actual pain, as the Vicodin still flowed through his system he heard Wilson shout from the kitchen. "You're won't get any better looking just lying there."

House smirked not taking the bait and making his way slowly out of bed. Grabbing his cane he headed towards the bathroom, his stiff gait a reminder of lying on the sofa in an awkward position too long last night, although the overpowering smell of breakfast urging him to move a bit quicker.

Entering the kitchen a few minutes later, Wilson gave him a cursory glance. "Don't bother getting dressed," he scoffed lightly, nodding at the plate already piled with macadamia nut pancakes. Shaking his head in resignation at the sight of House's thin striped pyjama bottoms and wrinkled Led Zeppelin shirt hanging loosely on his frame.

"Didn't give it a second thought," retorted House already chewing on a piece of bacon he'd swiped from Wilson's plate. Taking a seat he poured a generous portion of maple syrup over the thick stack of cakes in front of him while ignoring Wilson's feeble attempts at swatting away his other hand, reaching for more bacon. House quickly snagged two more pieces seemingly oblivious to the cook's outburst. "Get your own!"

House almost moaned in pleasure as he took the first bite of the pancakes. Letting the nutty crunch combine with the sugary maple, this was close to heavenly. Sure they were his favourite, and not just from the fact they were terrific, but that someone actually cared enough to go to that kind of trouble for him. Not that he would ever admit it to another living soul.

House shovelled more food into his mouth watching Wilson out of the corner of his eye. The brown haired man turned, expertly tossing freshly cooked cakes onto his own plate, giving House a discouraging glare. "You couldn't have even left me one piece?" he asked incredulously. House shrugged.

"I was saving you all those calories. You need to keep that boyish figure, don't want any unseemly bulging," House said as Wilson rolled his eyes. "Besides, I was hungry," finished House quietly, stuffing more pancakes into his mouth and chewing eagerly.

Wilson watched his friend closely for a moment, then seemed to come to a decision. Forking the top few golden circles off his own stack, Wilson dropped them onto House's half eaten pile. "Not all that hungry," Wilson shrugged in answer to House's look. Reaching for more bacon, he again added a few strips to the plate of a now surprised looking House.

"I can get my own," stated House indignantly while dousing the newest additions with more syrup.

"Normally one says thank you," he pointedly corrected House, who only scowled.

Wilson shook his head, concentrating on his own meal. They ate in silence, broken by the sound of forks scraping across plates and mugs being set back onto the tabletop.

House pushed back from the table having finished and let out a loud belch.

"You're welcome," Wilson answered, as House grabbing the empty coffee cup, refilled the red ceramic mug and headed into the living room.

"You getting dressed?" the oncologist asked quietly. Stopping, House turned toward Wilson wondering why the other man cared about his state of dress.

"You care because—"

Wilson shrugged, picking up the dirty dishes and moving them to the sink as House followed the younger man's every move, searching for a clue to this odd behaviour.

"Thought maybe you'd want to get your gift."

"What gift?" he asked tentatively.

Wilson faced House and crossed his arms as he leaned back against the counter. "The one I wasn't here at Christmas to give you."

House just stared.

"Fine." Wilson shrugged, turning back to the sink and started running water over the dishes.

"I didn't get you anything," House said apologetically.

"Doesn't matter."

House leaned on his cane, contemplating the back of Wilson's head, then deliberately made his way back to the bedroom.

Wilson smirked as he rinsed the sticky plates off before placing them in the dishwasher.


	2. Chapter 2

Wilson hadn't been very forthcoming when House had plied him with twenty questions, and now he sat sullenly in the passenger seat watching as the city passed outside his window. Bouncing the wooden cane on the floor boards had only prompted Wilson into turning the volume of the radio up, and House fidgeted in his seat as the morning show announcer rattled on about the price of beef.

When House casually switched radio stations he'd been met with a deadly glare from Wilson who'd promptly flipped it back, leaving House to fume and silently vow to reprogram all of Wilson's presets.

Who cared if the female traffic personality had a sexy voice? If there was more to her than just a voice, she'd be on television, not hiding behind a microphone in some dingy room.

"You might be in luck," stated House as the lady's voice announced the southern turnpike was slow due to a collision and urged listeners to seek alternate routes. Wilson looked curiously at House.

Nodding towards the radio, House continued. "As many cigarettes as she smokes, you're likely to have her as one of your patients soon."

Wilson's jaw dropped. "Wha—"

"C'mon, you don't really believe that low, sultry, sex-oozing growl is natural?" questioned House as Wilson gripped the steering wheel tightly, his jaw set in a clench. He missed House's smirk of triumph as the older man turned back to the window.

They continued the drive without speaking, the muffled thumping of the cane keeping time with the advertising jingles.

Pulling into a series of strip malls at long last, House scanned the signs for a clue to their destination. There were your typical small franchise Teriyaki restaurants, the obligatory coffee shop, a comic book store, nail salons, hair stylists, cigarette shop and assorted odds and ends, none of which really attracted his attention.

One store front was completely blank. Almost as if the sign guys had forgotten it's existence, the windows were covered with white poster board announcing 'opening soon', yet gave no hint as to what type of merchandise or service one could expect when they indeed did open. And it was this location that Wilson chose to park in front of, House's curiosity was piqued but he tried playing it down.

"Hookers are us?" he quipped as they exited the vehicle. Chuckling Wilson headed directly towards the mysterious shop not waiting to see if House was following. Opening the door he stepped aside and let House enter first.

The first thing one noticed upon entering the shop was the strong odor of leather, and judging from the displays he found himself surrounded by there was a very good reason for that. Everywhere House looked one saw leather. Leather jackets, chaps, vests, gloves, boots, and a myriad of other leathery items. All right, House had to admit there was a certain appeal to the rebel bad boy in him that relished the look and feel of fine leather, but it was as if they had walked into leather world.

He shot an enquiring look at Wilson who just grinned back like the Cheshire cat.

"Doctor Wilson." A young man called out emerging from the back room. Sandy blonde hair, this kid could have passed for the average surfer in California from the looks of him. Khaki shorts in the middle of winter and some anime character emblazoned across his chest made House think of high school dropouts. The kid flashed Wilson a big smile and reached out to shake his hand. Returning the handshake, Wilson thumbed towards House.

"Charlie, this is my friend I was telling you about, Doctor House." The kid smiled wider, if such a thing was possible and held his hand out to House, who promptly ignored him pretending to still be scanning the store.

"Good to meet you sir, and I think we've got exactly what you need," Charlie beamed, not at all put out by House's lack of acknowledgment and dropping his hand into a right-this-way gesture.

"Need?" Looking back towards Wilson who was nodding in the direction the young man was pointing, House felt obligated to at least see what was up Wilson's sleeve. "Don't recall _needing_ anything," House muttered just loudly enough to be heard. Both Wilson and Charlie ignored him.

Charlie led them to the far wall which was covered with what appeared to be large square cubicles like the post office might use for medium sized packages. Instead of boxes or packages most of the cubicles contained helmets. A wide array of helmets were nestled in the partitions, most of them showing random intricate patterns or airbrushed designs resembling those of a goalie's mask in hockey.

House wondered how he'd failed to notice these on his initial survey of the interior. Lost in his own thoughts, he'd tuned out the conversation between Wilson and Charlie as they discussed one of Charlie's relatives and their remission. House's eyes roamed across another row of helmets then stopped.

The flame striping wound across the bottom of the facemask and curled into larger flames meeting in the back, hovering on a three dimensional look the way the artist had layered flames against the onyx background and matched the colors on his cane. A mirrored visor completed the look and catching his reflection House grinned as he picked up the full-faced helmet almost letting out a whistle. He was surprised at the weight in his hands, a Shoei X-Eleven top of the line model and certainly not designed for your casual rider. House turned at the silence to find Wilson staring smugly at his friend, to which House uttered one word. "Bitchin'."

Setting his cane against the wall House was examining the helmet more closely when Charlie spoke up. "We've added an extra feature," he said pointing to a small rca plug tucked neatly into the inside lining. House fingered the plug, not entirely sure it's exact nature until Charlie handed him a black chord, and explained. "This allows you to plug in your mp3 player and the headphones are Sennheiser." House was nodding in agreement as he placed the helmet on his head drowning out the rest of Charlie's words, he was already impressed and Wilson was grinning like the cat-that-had-eaten-the-canary behind him.

"If you want I could hook you up with Sam, who's working on a wireless unit," Charlie finished to his own reflection.

Custom fit beat off the shelf every day, he thought as House tugged lightly towards the side feeling the helmet hug his head, almost like a comfortable glove. He marvelled that he'd not connected the disappearance of his old helmet with Wilson. Almost feeling a sense of relief when he first noticed the useless head gear missing, the cracked shell split with an ugly jagged line running across the top of the helmet, a visual reminder of his latest close call. He shuddered inwardly recalling the sharp cracking snap as if a giant egg was breaking open around his skull.

A hand on his arm caused him to turn his head and he was seeing Wilson through the tinted Plexiglas face shield, his Ipod waving back and forth in his friend's hand. House knew he was grinning like an eager kid and could only convey his meaning with a nod. Wilson stepped forward connecting the chord to his helmet then thumbed the Ipod on.

House's hands went immediately to the side of his head slapping against the cool exterior as he let out a yell. Wilson pushed pause releasing the player when House grabbed at it. Adjusting the volume to a more tolerable level, House played through a few selections then removed the helmet running a hand through his hair in an attempt to keep it laying flat.

Charlie was already handing Wilson a helmet bag and between them settled the helmet inside. House grabbed his cane, the bag, and headed for the entrance not looking back. Shaking Charlie's hand again, Wilson thanked him and hurried to catch up with the disappearing man.

"House," he called to the retreating back pushing through the door. Shaking his head he finally caught up to House at the car, and only because he was the one with the keys. "Glad you like it," said Wilson as he unlocked the passenger side for his friend.

"You didn't have to." Which was as close to a thankyou as Wilson hoped to get out of the other man.

"Just shut up House. You needed a new one," Wilson stated, ignoring why a new one was needed. "And besides that one has the highest ratings in safety features," he finished.

"Yes Mom." House replied as Wilson rolled his eyes and started the car.

As they pulled away House couldn't help but notice the slim figure that pulled up in front of the store on a Ducati Sport 1000. Watching the pair grow smaller in the side mirror House wasn't sure which he was more impressed with, the bike or the woman that was riding it. But he made a mental note to make a repeat visit.


	3. Chapter 3

Wilson dropped House off back at the apartment. The ride home was silent between the two as the radio provided the necessary background noise, each man lost in his own thoughts until pulling up to the curb outside. Wilson promised to return later that evening with pizza and movies.

"Make sure it's got action. Lots of action," groused House as he pushed the car door open with his elbow not letting go of either his cane or the new helmet. Swiveling in the passenger seat he half pulled himself upwards with his right arm until his left leg was braced under him to take his weight before switching the cane to his right hand and proceeding the few feet to the apartment steps.

"Are we talking explosions, car chases, and copious amounts of spent bullets?" Wilson queried as he leaned across the leather seat to pull the door shut.

House looked over his shoulder with a patented eye roll that said _don't make me explain myself_ and opened the outer door.

Pulling the car door closed Wilson sat back, wrist draped over the steering wheel while he watched his friend disappear inside the building before shifting the vehicle into drive and accelerating away. Wilson didn't understand his need to see that House got inside safely; he was a grown man after all and more than capable of looking after himself, most of the time.

Driving the short distance to the hotel he'd contemplated turning around and imposing himself on House's hospitality and staying with him for the remainder of the day. Instead deciding a long hot shower and a couple hours of peace and quiet were in order after the last few hectic weeks. There was also the growing pile of clothing that needed to be sent out or he'd be resorting to House's mode of dress.

Wilson shivered repulsed by the mere thought of being seen in public wearing a half-unbuttoned and wrinkled shirt that haphazardly covered a faded t-shirt and hung loosely over blue jeans. He preferred the crisp starched cotton shirts with matching tie, creased dress slacks and patent leather shoes. _Consider him vain_, he shrugged inwardly at his own voice, he enjoyed looking like the professional he was no matter how many times House chided him about his laundry expenses.

Wilson sighed gloomily as he drove into the parking garage under the hotel. The darkened area reminded him continually of driving into a cave filled with metal monsters lying in wait for unsuspecting victims. Shadows played along the walls from his headlights and he was grateful to find a stall close to the elevator.

The motor died as he turned the key silencing the engine, and he suddenly became aware of the gloominess that settled around him. _Welcome home_ he thought shutting the car door and listening to the metallic thump echo loudly in the dim murkiness of the palely lit concrete dungeon. Wilson glanced around nervously, the rush of traffic outside a dull roar ominously ricocheting in between the manmade walls.

Squaring his shoulders he strode to the elevator with more confidence than he felt and inwardly welcomed the brightly lit cubicle awaiting him. Stepping inside he pushed the lobby button and let out a long exhale as the doors closed and the familiar lurch of the elevator signaled the upward rise.

"Good afternoon Doctor Wilson." The concierge acknowledged him with a nod and slight smile as she hastily dropped the book she'd been reading and stood to address him.

Marcy he recalled not bothering to look at the name tag buried under blond hair that draped loosely over her shoulders. Big brown eyes under too much mascara that did nothing to hide the fact she wasn't getting enough sleep, the dark circles almost hidden by the makeup.

"Hello, thought I'd pick up my mail," he answered; glancing down at the book lying open on the counter as she turned away. "Biological physics?" he called.

She didn't bother to turn as she began checking the banded bundles, placing a few into a small box. "Course elective," she said over her shoulder adding more content to the rapidly filling box.

Wilson turned the book around to get a closer look. "Seems a bit on the heavy side for an elective," he mused out loud scanning the headings and noticing a few pages from a magazine sliding out from between the back pages of the oversized book.

"The faster I get through school, the quicker I can start a real career."

Wilson chuckled to himself as he slid the Cosmopolitan quiz on 'How to Satisfy Your Man In Bed' back into place and leaned his forearms nonchalantly on the counter by the time she turned around and carried over the box heaped with mail.

"You've got quite a bit here," she stated lifting the cardboard onto the counter and giving him another warm smile as she pushed it towards him.

"Thanks," Wilson returned the smile, grabbed the box and glanced quickly at the few pieces on top, mostly junk he thought, and began to make his way back to the elevator.

"Oh, wait!" a voice stopped him as he pivoted, the contents of the box shifting slightly and he let his arms lower, the weight pulling forward awkwardly, already becoming a strain and looked at her questioningly.

"There's something else, I almost forgot," she said hastily as she walked backwards toward the office pointing behind her for emphasis. "Be just a sec." Then she disappeared into a doorway.

Wilson waited patiently as she entered the office behind the desk, and found himself shifting from one foot to the other after several minutes, giving slight nods to a few folks that wandered through the lobby eyeing him and his collection of mail.

He was beginning to wish she'd hurry it up when Marcy reemerged with a triumphant grin and carrying another package, this one fairly small and he eyed cautiously. She stepped towards him hesitantly trying to determine how to place the package on the already filled container and then pushed letters to the side tucking the square box beside the edge. Wilson nodded thankfully, eyed the package suspiciously and walked away again.

He was in the elevator once more before the thought occurred to him that he should have at least found out whom the sender was. The box was wedged so that the address wasn't visible and Wilson had to content himself with waiting. The list of people that knew where he resided wasn't all that long, the exes, House. At that he laughed aloud at the idea House would ever send him anything. That only left Cuddy and his folks, and he surmised it had to be his folks or his older brother that had sent the package for a late Christmas present.

Satisfied in the knowledge he knew the packages origin, there was just the matter of discovering what was in the box, but that could wait.

Entering his version of home, he set the mail on the end of the plain looking full-sized bed, eyes taking in the bare hotel room he found himself currently living in and sighed again. This wasn't exactly the way he had pictured life after medical school.

He picked up the mysterious package noting there was no return address and shook it lightly as if it would give away a clue as to its contents.

XXhouseXXwilsonXX

House stood just inside the hallway waiting and listening for the Volvo to pull away. Twenty plus four bounces of his cane later he was finally hearing the sound of the motor fading. He pulled back the blinds with the tip of his cane, a slow smile crossing his face as he watched the red taillights turn the corner. He dropped his cane and new helmet onto the sofa and limped to the closet pulling out his leather motorcycle jacket, the feel of the heavy material comfortable in his hand.

Laying it on the back of the sofa he quickly shucked the long wool overcoat tossing it haphazardly, not caring as it slid off the end of the furniture and fell into a crumpled heap on the floor. Time for that later, he thought slipping into the riding jacket and zipping it up. He stopped halfway, looking around quickly his brow furrowing in thought, then hobbled over to the lump on the floor and fished out his Ipod, dropping the coat back into a heap. He thumbed the dial, plugged in the small black cord and slipped the player into an inner pocket reaching for the helmet.

Patting his pockets he went through a quick mental checklist: Vicodin, in a prescription bottle, cell phone, gloves, wallet, didn't need that since his license was still suspended. Even so, he plucked a few bills out of it and stuffed them inside the front pocket of his jeans. Never hurts to be prepared he reminded himself as he finished zipping up the jacket, grabbed the keys and closed the front door firmly behind him.

He clipped the cane to the side of the bike lifted his leg over and settled on the seat, already beginning to relax in anticipation. Adjusting the helmet he rolled his head a bit to get a feel for the different weight, pulled on his gloves dropped the visor and started the motorcycle. The rough purr of the bike under his body spoke of freedom and he leaned forward twisting the throttle back while listening to the growl of the engine as he felt the vibration of power surging up through him.

He let the clutch out gently and maneuvered into the street looking both ways before accelerating, exhilarating in the knowledge he could still enjoy freedom while riding. If one could have looked under the mirrored visor they would have been shocked to glimpse House with a genuine smile as the scenery swept past.

Two hours later House was content to listen to the dull roar of the bike as he traveled onward, his Ipod having died a few miles back. Soon his leg began to protest the onslaught of cold air as he felt the first twinges of cramping and made the decision to pull off of the freeway hoping to find a small diner nearby. Glancing at his watch he figured a short half hour stop to warm up, down a couple of pills then head back was in order, still allowing him a few minutes to himself before Wilson arrived at his place.

He drove a couple of short blocks from the interchange and spotted a truck stop that looked promising for a short rest. As he pulled up to the handicapped parking he was met with a pleasant surprise. A row of bikes were lined up and nestled towards the end of the row was one he had seen earlier that day, or a very close replica. House was looking forward to meeting the rider, this was turning out to be a very good start to the New Year he told himself and parked his bike.

It took a few minutes of standing and seeming to be busy with his gear to allow his leg time to accustom itself to his weight again before he slowly entered the mini mart. The clerk didn't even look his direction as he entered, busy trying to explain to a truck driver where the showers were and the areas they were allowed to park their rigs. House ignored the few people roaming idly in the store and skirted the aisles moving towards the diner and promised relief.

'Please seat yourself' the sign read and House let his eyes roam over the mix of patrons quickly. The room seemed to be filled with a healthy crowd of the stereotypical Sunday afternoon biker crowd. Black leather jackets with metal odds and ends hanging out of the pockets or draped over shoulders, a few scraggly beards, numerous bandanas and the assorted patches announcing to the world at large the affiliated clubs they belonged too. The few men seated at the bar sported graying ponytails tied with rubber bands and the stitching on their backs read PNJAMC.

House settled in between two of the bigger men luckily with an empty seat to either side of him and leaned forward on the counter trying to get the waitress's attention. Finally she walked hurriedly past sliding a single paged menu towards him and mumbling something about a special in his direction without slowing. She was followed immediately by a younger kid who pushed a glass of water towards him spilling a portion of its contents on the countertop. The kid's smile was friendly enough and he didn't seem too bothered by the flurry of activity behind him as the cook shouted at another waitress who was pulling plates of food off the line.

"Want coffee mister?" the kid asked already pulling a coffee cup from under the counter. House just nodded and watched as the kid sidled around the waitress with her hands full barely managing to avoid each other. She shot the young man a dirty look and hurried off with her load of food only to be instantly replaced with another much heavier set lady.

One of the guys close to House addressed her as Betty and she turned with a flushed grin. "Why Billy, it's been awhile since you stopped in to see me."

House had to hide his eye roll at the corny banter between the two, and instead found himself concentrating on the cup of coffee that had materialized in front of him. He held the cup between his hands beginning to feel the cold subside that had numbed him and was grateful for the heat.

House watched hungrily as Betty dished up a healthy slice of apple pie crumble with two scoops of ice cream which instantly began to melt down the sides, a generous portion of whipped cream on top and then set the works in front of his neighbor. Unable to catch Betty's eye House settled for flagging down the kid again and hooked a thumb towards the dwindling dessert.

"How do I get one of those?"

The kid looked over at the dessert that was now reduced to more of a semblance of thick soup rather than a pie and grinned knowingly. "That's the last of that pie today, Mister. Won't have anything but the frozen store bought variety now for at least a couple of hours," he finished casually glancing up at the clock as if to confirm his statement. "There's apple or lemon meringue," he added on a hopeful note.

House shook his head watching jealously as the last few remnants of the crumble was scooped up and slurped noisily. "Think I'll pass." The kid shrugged, turned in response to the voice bellowing from the back and darted away. Ducking expertly as tray of food passed over his head he ignored the scolding that followed him. Plates of the house special clinked together as soda splashed down the sides of the tall glass dousing mashed potatoes in thin syrup. Quickly scooping a healthy ladle of gravy over the potatoes, the waitress topped the spilled soda and hustled away, leaving House slightly amused.

Stepping away from the counter House made his way to the restroom, both patrons and staff deftly stepping out of the way of him and his cane.

The restrooms were tucked into a narrow hallway towards the back corner of the restaurant the door on the left read 'Men's' scrawled in white etching on a blue name plate, while the 'Women's' mirrored it in opposite colors across the way. Another door partially open at the end of the hallway stated 'Employee's Only' in white on black.

A loud voice was issuing from the open door and House couldn't help but overhear the one sided argument. Pausing a moment with his hand splayed against the bathroom door he stood listening.

"I have a business to run. I can't have you chasing off whenever you feel like it. And don't give me that excuse I've had plenty of notice. You know how hard it is to find a replacement that's competent, let alone someone that can cover your position." There was a slight pause, House imagining the speaker having to catch his breath. "I'm sorry," the voice stated, sounding anything but apologetic in its tone before continuing. "I can only let you off for two days. Take it or leave it." There was finality with the last words and House suddenly found himself face to face with the speaker.

A lumbering behemoth of a man, breathing hard from apparent exertion, that would have passed easily for a cook on any old Hollywood Naval movie, sans the cigar butt that wasn't hanging out of his jowls. He pushed past House who was already moving into the bathroom to allow space between them.

The sound of something large hitting the bathroom wall adjoining the break room followed by a muffled _damn_ alerted House to the recipient's response.

Thinking about the ride back home, House quickly downed a couple of Vicodin. Another cup of coffee and he'd be set for the return trip he thought entering the hallway just as the opposite door opened and a smaller figure collided with him.

Dropping his cane he managed to grab the doorframe behind him shocked that her momentum was enough to knock him backwards. The snide comment dying on his lips as he found himself held tightly in an embrace the cane making a muted thump as it landed. She was soft in all the right places he noted and her head tucked under his chin smelled lightly of strawberries. Bracing himself with his left leg and her assistance he stood upright still clinging to the frame.

As she bent to retrieve his cane he let his eyes roam down over her back side admiring the contours under the uniform. He was still grinning when she held his cane out to him, looking him in the eye, not even having the decency to blush as his eyes retraced upwards.

"I'm sorry," she said softly then turned and left him standing there open-mouthed.

"Hey, wait—"

She continued walking away from him pretending not to hear.

"You can't just knock over a cripple and walk away!" he shouted after her thumping his cane a few times for effect. More than a few patrons turned to look his way then hastily found other things to occupy themselves with as House glared back, realizing she wasn't going to stop.

She had successfully disappeared by the time he'd been able to make is way to the front of the diner. Paying his tab he grabbed his helmet and hurried, as fast as a man with a can could, out to his bike.

Once outside House noted the Ducati was no longer parked amongst the few remaining bikes and for a moment he allowed himself a small smile of indulgence before shaking his head knowing the reality was far from what his imagination had conjured.

Feeling the cold on the ride back as the darkness settled in and brought lower temperatures, House was tired and more than slightly irritated there was no music to distract his thoughts of the woman from the diner and by the time he'd parked his bike and headed for the apartment House all but ignored Wilson who was pulling up to the curb.

"You went riding," exclaimed Wilson as he followed House into the apartment then dodged items of clothing House dropped along the way.

"Any other startling observations you'd care to impart?" House responded sarcastically as he slammed the bathroom door.

Wilson stood open-mouthed staring at the shut door before making his way to the refrigerator and shaking his head.

Wilson was putting a movie into the DVD player when House emerged again and limped his way over the sofa where he sank gratefully onto the end pushing garments out of the way and propped his leg onto the coffee table rubbing his thigh absentmindedly, thankful Wilson hadn't begun any lectures about his little adventure.

Without a word Wilson cleared himself a space on the sofa and took a seat at the opposite end.

"Pizza?" House half belched after a long swig of beer.

"About fifteen more minutes," Wilson commented dryly after consulting his watch, then grabbed his own bottle of beer off the table.

The only noise for the next few minutes was that of the newest release action movie blaring from the television.


End file.
